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Array
(
[sid] => 128335
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => Wine
[time] => 2006-11-16 23:49:35
[hometext] =>
[bodytext] => I get terribly suave when I’m excited. It’s almost embarrassing. I purred in her ear that I would be right back, and slid out of the room, locking the door silently behind me. I pressed my ear to the wall and checked if she had heard the bolt. I heard the soft rub of her skirt on the sheets – she must have sat down on the bed. She was not worried about a thing. A few paces down the hallway, and I reached the office. It was my favourite room of the house – filled with screens that were linked to cameras. I could see any room I wanted, including the one my date was in. Along the walls were dozens of empty bottles of wine – my wife had loved to drink. I hummed our wedding song as I switched on the main TV to watch Rebecca in the bedroom. I was pleased with myself – I had picked well. Her hair was almost the exact style as my wife’s – dark brown, in long ringlets. I used to love to run my hands through it, especially in our last few moments together. Red really highlighted her hair. And her blue top looked purple as the blood spread. Rebecca was re-applying her lipstick and glancing around the room. She looked bored – probably wondering why I was taking so long. “Keep looking, keep looking”, I urged her silently. I needed her to find it. I needed to see the distress. My wife had always been so nosy. When she found that note left in the corner, our romantic night was ruined. But the wine didn’t go to waste. Her hair smelt like sweet alcohol and glittered with smashed glass. She looked even more beautiful. Bec finally reached the shelf near the head of the bed. She bent close to further examine what she had found, and I watched as her back stiffened. The faded blood was splattered all over it, and on top lay a single broken tooth. Her head snapped back in horror, and with a harsh, unnatural gait she walked towards the door. Her hand snatched at the handle, and she pulled and pushed and jiggled and tried her hardest to get it open. I laughed in disbelief – if a door doesn’t open the first time, there’s a good chance it’s locked. I guess terror does strange things to people. I couldn’t stand it any longer, so I turned on the speakers. “Darling, it’s locked. It won’t open till I say it opens.” She lurched backwards, as if she thought the door itself had spoken to her. Her eyes flew around the room. “Colder. Warmer. Hot”, I directed her, until she looked up and saw the camera. “Emily, sweetheart, I love your blouse. Blue suits you.” Her eyes widened further – she looked like a bug. I chuckled; she was acting so strangely for someone who minutes ago was desperate to stay the night. “I’m not Emily!” she screamed. I knew that, of course. I just liked to pretend she was. Emmy had been my wife’s name. It was such a pretty name. “What the hell are you doing?! What’s going on?! Let me out!” Jeez, Em, I thought. Where are your manners? Instead, I put a CD on. Maroon Five filtered through the speakers. “Remember this song, Emmy? You used to love this song.” Rebecca said something then, but I wasn’t paying attention. She really did look an awful lot like Em. And the song… the song had been playing. ‘She will be loved, yea she will be loved…’ as glass smashed. As I kissed her. As I carried her beautiful bloody body outside. As I did it again and again and again to countless young girls who were blessed enough to look like her. I leant across and ran my hands along the empty wine bottles. It needed to feel right. A good wine was an important part of a perfect evening. Checking I looked suitable in the mirror above the rack, I selected the bottle and went to finally spend some time with my date. [comments] => 0 [counter] => 195 [topic] => 59 [informant] => bohemian_with_a_pen [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => psychoticpoems )
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